


Snippets

by Neferit



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Authororics Anynomyous, Broken Hearts, Comfort, Community: dragonage_kink, Crack, Death, Drama, Fear, Friendship, Gen, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, Letters, Machiavelli, Misfire Fills, Misplaced Comment Fic, Multifills, Parody, dub con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:06:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neferit/pseuds/Neferit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippets or longer oneshots, ideas taken from dragonage_kink meme at LJ or my own. Each chapter is separate story. More will be posted as I finish it.</p><p>Chapter 8: Arl Howe marries his daughter off to Couslands. His daughter fears her husband - and he feasts on that fear, for it's not him being rough what scares her so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Remnant of Home, Dog/Cousland

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for a [prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/8033.html?thread=40066913#t40066913) at kink meme:
> 
> _Dog dies, and the Warden has to deal with it._

 

Elissa was crying.

Elissa was crying, uncaring about who might stumble on her here on the battlements of Vigil's Keep. All that mattered was that her last connection to her home, to her family, to her own past and old life, was dead.

_Poor Bark._

She thought that taking him with her to Amaranthine Arling will show that the Wardens, her, the Commander of the Grey, are noble and trustworthy. After all, no mabari would imprint on anyone who wouldn't be worthy. Then Bark became her last link to Highever - her brother, new teyrn of Highever, disowned her once he learnt she conscripted a Howe into the Wardens ranks. _How could you, Elissa,_ he wrote her in the last letter she received from him. _I couldn't believe it when merchants travelling from Amaranthine told me but one of the mercenaries accompanying them confirmed that it is indeed son of Rendon Howe who's accompanying you now, wearing heraldy of Grey Wardens._

_I no longer have a younger sister._

Her faithful mabari kept her company that day she received that letter, whimpering at the sight of her tears, laying his head on her knee to gaze at her mournfully. _I'm here for you,_ his eyes seemed to be saying, _and I won't leave you._

It took only one travel to Wending Woods where they got captured by this... Architect... for the dog to be unable to keep his silent promise, as he poisoned himself on the Darkspawn blood. Not even the cure, made from the Wilds flowers, which she made sure was supplied aplenty to the Keep, seemed to be helping, and Bark suffered as the Taint slowly coursed through his body. She was there, holding his head in her lap, as his suffering finally ended.

SInce then, she just sat on the battlements, time passing around her as her tears streamed down her cheeks. Anders offered her Ser Pounce-A-Lot, saying the amazing kitten is the best cure for sadness. Oghren offered her a bottle of his family brew. Velanna surprisingly offered short prayer for the dead, the first time where she showed some emotion and feeling aside of deep disdain. Nathaniel made himself scarce. Even the Keep garrison made sure they won't intrude on the Commander. Being alone was the best and the worst thing which could happen to her but at the time she got here, she just didn't care. It was strangely freeing to let the tears flow, her hair whipping around her face in the wind as she sipped on Oghren's brew.

Then her musings were interrupted by quiet cough.

"Commander?" sounded hesitant voice of Nathaniel. She turned around. He was holding a small basket in his hands, and he looked strangely nervous; as if he was about to do something he wasn't sure won't explode in his face. To her questioning glance he mumbled: "I've brought you something, Commander... Elissa," he added nervously. "I know nothing and no one can ever replace your hound, but Adria's mabari had pupies few weeks ago and now they are ready to wean, waiting for someone they would deem worthy of imprinting on him. I thought..." he once again paused under her stare, "I thought that you might like to take a look."

_Regret is something I know well. Take care not to cling to it, to hold it so close that it poisons your soul._

When he held the basket to her, she took it and set it on the ground next to her. There were several pupies inside, whimpering as she uncovered them to take a look. One of them, a dark brown girl puppy, looked owlishly at her as she picked it up to take a closer look. Then it yawned. And peed on her.

Elissa grimaced. "I can't decide whether it's sign of eternal disgust or eternal love, to be peed on," she said to Nathaniel, who obviously was trying very hard not to laugh at her. With a smirk he remarked: "I think it's love, Commander, for she already marked you as her own." And truly, she felt a nudge in her mind, the pup curling itself in her hands.

 _Nothing would ever replace Bark,_ she thought as she followed Nathaniel down from the battlements, the pup safely in her arms. _But it's good to have another good friend to count on._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is real-life inspired story - when we got the new guinea pig, the first thing the damn animal did was to pee on me. The darling completely fell in love with me later, though, so really. Love at the first pee.


	2. Misfire Fill - Authororics Anonymous, publishers around the fandoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for a misplaced and lonely comment:
> 
>  
> 
> _Oh, I love this story! Hope you are updating soon :)_

Isabela, sitting in a circle with various other people (there was someone of name "Volo", then some lizard being with quill and parchment and non-stopping mumbling named Deekin, the awesome dwarf Varric Tethras and excitedly looking Merrill), finished reading the latest piece of her "friendfiction" she wrote about some of their companions.  
  
Before anyone else could say anything (either from what they remembered or wrote down as a note about her writing), Merrill exclaimed:  
  
"Oh, I love this story! Hope you are updating soon, Isabela, I can't wait to read the ending!"  
  
"That I will, kitten," smirked Isabela, enjoying the grimaces her fellow Authororics Anonymous made when they heard that. "That I will."


	3. Love, Quentin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for "humanize your least favourite character" [challenge](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/9730.html?thread=40268290#t40268290). Well, tehre are even less favourited characters for me in the game, but we have to start somewhere, no?

 

Every day without her hurt.  
  
Ever since she was taken from his, his heart painfully twitched in his chest every time he though of her smile, of her hands, of her eyes, of her hands.  
  
Of her beautiful face, looking upto him from whatever tome she was studying.  
  
And then, then he finally learnt how to recreate the miracle that had been her. His friend from the Circle supplied him the means to do so.  
  
He will touch Maker's face, and together with her, he will live.


	4. End Justifies The Means, Seneschal Bran/Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another fill for "humanize your least favourite character". What can I say - Seneschal Bran and Machiavelli go so well together, even if I'm actually quite fond of the character...

He knew what people thought of him.

_Too arrogant._

_Too disdainful._

_Too young._

_Too unscruppulous._

_Too unsuitable._

_Too everything._

_Too nothing._

Only the Viscount seemed to think him capable, otherwise he wouldn't appoint him the Seneschal. The young viscount's son seemed to be vary around him, the boy already too somber for his age - but there was something what connects them. The suffering of seeing the man they both looked up to being put down by every idiot who thought themselves important enough to be looking down on the man who were a great person in position not suited his character.

He worked harder and harder each day, trying to make Marlowe's (he's one of the few people allowed to call the Viscount by the name when they discuss matters of the city away from the ears of others) reign easier in the difficult time of Blight brewing in the south, taking loads of the paperwork off Viscount's table so he could negotiate with the nobility. Lord Harriman was one of the more reasonable nobles in whole of Free Marches, pushing through the idea of sending help to Ferelden striked down by the Blight, even if the city is full of refugees and nobles are against anything even distantly sounding as Fereldan or Ferelden.

It was hard to organize a city full of refugees and faulty guards but he managed, especially after the Qunari crashlanded in Kirkwall but he still managed, scrambling the little resources they had to their disposal and somehow making the city continue in its life in relative smoothness.

It wasn't until the defeat of the Blight that several of the Fereldan refugees started to make a name for themselves, drawing on the name of their ancestors ('Amell' was the name of the mother of the small family, at least until she got married off), raising in the ranks of Kirkwall citizens and making his head hurt with all the extra paperwork it brought him.

He remembered the refugee, a curious woman with hair so light they almost seemed white, lines of Chasind tattoo light on her face, dressed in strange mixture of clothing and armor, followed by a similarly looking dark-haired man with two-handed sword strapped to his back, dwarf he remembered being younger brother of Bartrand Tethras and the guard captain-to-be, meeting them all together for the first time when young Saemus got missing and it was clear to him that this woman is going to be trouble. Trouble with capital T.

 It sure didn't make him doing happy dances every time Viscount called on her, Thea Hawke, in the next several years - he saw the disdain in her eyes when he mentioned that he would do everything to minimize the damage for the office. Better to sacrifice bunch of fanatics, bunch of helpers, bunch of _anyone_ aside for the ruling family, so the office would remain strong. But then Saemus left with another of his grand gestures and was murdered by bunch of fanatics and Marlowe lost the will to live.

Hawke was nearly constant presence in the keep since then, keeping the broken man company, together with his making him do at least some work so he would snap from the melancholy. He never really got the chance, for the situation with Qunari finally got out of hand. Bran saw the Arishok's mocking in the face of a broken man, whose suffering ended the moment the vicious blade met his neck and his head flew away to land at Hawke's feet.

He cheered for the new Kirkwall Champion, for she managed to avert a crisis in his city.

Three years later, he knew that the crisis was just a foreboding of even greater crisis. His post of seneschal was just of the "place your stamp on this and keep quiet" variety, people trying to rip piece of the city to themselves. When Champion appeared in front of him, he couldn't stop himself from throwing his frustrations on her.

Small part of him had been ashamed of that afterwards, since she only came to see how he was and he nearly bit her head off for that.

But the climax of the brewing confrontation came soon after, Hawke being the one left standing, mage who turned her back against her own, and the one being supported by both templars and citizents. He offered his services to her nearly immediately after the talks of her becoming a Viscount came up, and with a small smirk she accepted, for they shared an understanding, no matter the gossips about him being a turncoat spread by envious nobles who hoped to become seneschals now.

There will be nothing to stop them from doing what's best for Kirkwall. Nothing, and no one.


	5. Beyond the Looking Glass, Quentin/His Wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been browsing through Delicious archive for dragonage_kink meme and found [this prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/4443.html?thread=13054043#t13054043):
> 
> _I desperately want to read a fic where Quentin gets to the afterlife, and is overjoyed to see his wife again-except she's been watching what he's been up too, and calls him a sick fuck before dumping him like a ton of hot bricks._
> 
> Well, anon, probably not exactly what you've been looking for, but I hope you won't mind too much.

 

Markessa was furious. Ever since she found herself in this blasted section of Fade, separated from anyone interesting, she was forced to watch her idiot of a beloved husband to do even bigger idiot out of himself.

How comes she never realized what shenanigans he could get up to?

She always knew he had been a bit soft in the head, but she would have never thought him to be actually that much of a batshit crazy; one Archdemon short of a Blight or something. Because this... well, this definitely wasn't something she would imagine him to do.

Becoming a blood mage - alright. Not the best thing to do, but still something she could wrap her head around. Start brand new and damn creepy survey in necromancy? A bit more difficult to stomach but still at least a bit understandable. But starting to butcher people, _women_ , because they supposedly had some of her bodyparts - that definitely wasn't anything she would be willing to overlook.

Especially since he got them all _wrong_!

Like, her eyes. He plucked them from a dead body of a woman who had such a washed-out shade of blue eyes. Her eyes had been crystal-clear blue colour, by Andraste's holy knickers.

Or her body. She sure didn't have such narrow hips or small boobs. No, no, no. She was the perfect figure from the old art - big boobs, slim waist, wide hips - perfect hourglass figure.

Or her legs. Hers were much better shaped.

And do not even get her started on the hands he picked up. She saw what he wrote to his journal. I saw her hands. _Long, slender fingers. Fair skin—the hands of a lifelong scholar. Oh, to lock my own clumsy fingers in hers again..._ 'Well,' she thought, 'keep it up, Quentin, and you'll have a doll with all the wrong parts.'

She almost cheered for the woman who destroyed his laboratory in search for the last woman he picked, supposedly for her face. Markessa thought that at least one part of her body looked like her, even if she didn't have so many wrinkles. And then the woman yelled, there had been lots of blood and Quentin was dead.

Oh, she was so looking forward seeing him again. Because making this joke of his wife had been definitely the final straw that broke the camel's back. She just hoped that there were divorces possible here in the Fade, since divorce will be the only thing he'll get from her.

Love being the strongest force in the universe.

Blah.

Love could be the strongerst force in the universe - but still could carry you only so far.


	6. Letter of Apology by Ignolla Hawke, F!Hawke/Fenris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for my own [prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/9730.html?thread=40546306#t40546306) at dragonage_kink meme. The prompt was "Things you wish you could say in game", with captcha saying "for ignolla". One of the kind anons who wrote some snippets to that used "Ignolla" as the name of their Hawke. And afterwards, they responded with another prompt-in-a-prompt "Quartte Hawke wishes to write Fenris a thoughtful letter of apology. I should not have pushed you to have sex, it was too soon and I should have known you might not be ready. I hope you can forgive me." Sounded like a good place where to start a snippet of my own!

 

Dear Fenris,  
  
please, accept my humbly apology for showing such romantic interest in you, even if you are one of the romance options in this year of Age of the Dragon. I'm _sincerely_ sorry for flirting with you, while you obviously weren't feeling for any affection from my side, since I'm just a filthy mage (which, I'll have you know, even if you are most surely aware of it yourself, is not true - I bathe regulaly), and magic doesn't touch anything without spoiling it. So, let me tell you that I am sorry for touching you, thus spoiling you.  
  
Sorry.  
  
Let me tell you how sorry I am for thinking that your flirting back was sign of interest. I know, I dare to presume so much.  
  
Let me tell you how sorry I am for thinking that you kissing me was actually sign of you having romantic interest in my person. Looks like presuming is a big fault of mine, eh?  
  
Let me tell you how sorry I am for feeling cheap when being left on the waking-after (since it was not in the morning but in the dead of the night, I feel the term 'morning after' would be misleading and thus incorrect) by the man I just spend that part of the night with by having sex with him. Like you said not so long ago, I'm not bitch in heat - I actually need to feel at least a bit expensive.  
  
Oh, and before I forget, next time, before you accuse someone of being filthy mage, go and soak yourself in a tub for at least an hour. Because you, serrah, _stink_. Neither Anders, nor Merrill, do. I checked that myself. Unwashed reach-in-your-chest-and-rip-your-heart-off lyrium-tattooed elves shouldn't throw stones in their glass mansions, just so you know.

 

  
Yours truly,

Ignolla Hawke

P.S. I love you. I miss you.


	7. Of Nobles and Their Double Standards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a [prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/8033.html?thread=40558945#t40558945) at dragonage_kink meme. Anon said:
> 
>  
> 
> _I submit to you again that it might be time to put Anora aside. We parted harshly the last time I spoke of this, but it has been a full year since then and nothing has changed._  
>  -One of those Return to Ostagar letters
> 
>  
> 
> _Arl Eamon's first attempt to convince Cailan to ditch Anora. Idealistic Cailan telling his uncle where to shove it._
> 
>  
> 
> Sounded like an idea, since I'm developing dislike for Eamon as well.

 

Cailan knew he was often considered idiot or at least rather childish by quite a few nobles, but he certainly would expect better from his own uncle. His uncle who just told him that he must kick his wife aside and find a new one.

He forced his irritation down. Bryce, Teyrn Cousland, was waiting for an audience he requested several days ago, and that was a noble who actually fitted the definition of noble; direct, honourable, sly and faithful more than would probably be healthy. Not like Eamon, who fitted the Orlesian definition of noble more and more each passing day. Thinking of that, Loghain would probably have a field day, given his distrust towards everything related to Orlais. _'Keep it down, Cailan,'_ he though, forcing himself to breath deeply, _'keep it down until you do not have a friendly noble waiting in the next room.'_

"You know it's true, Cailan. You _must_ divorce Anora, and find another, possibly younger, wife."

"I can't believe you are actually saying that, Eamon," he snapped. "It was _you_ who together with Loghain and my father pushed towards alliance between houses Theirin and Mac Tir, and now you are _advising_ me to break the alliance off?"

"The situation is changed..." started Eamon but Cailan wasn't about to let him finish. "Right. So the situation is changed. In case you haven't noticed, _Uncle_ ," he stressed the word showing the familial relation, "the Theirins are not the most fertile house in the Ferelden. _Guerrins_ themselves are not the most fertile house in the whole of Ferelden either, your parents probably being exception of the rule by having three children. Just because we were married for four years now doesn't mean a thing. _You_ , of all people, should know that. It took you years to get one child as well."

It was probably a bit underbelt hit, to throw Eamon's marriage in his face like that, especially since quite a few Fereldan nobles were criticising Eamon for marrying an Orlesian out of so many eligible noblewomen in Ferelden, especially since they were married over decade before Isolde gave him Connor. And the man dares to tell him to discart his wife on exactly the same problem he had in his marriage as well. Like hell he cares about underbelt punches.

Now his uncle was bright red, obviously focing himself to calm down as well, Cailan noted with grim satisfaction. With sense of finality, he rose from his chair, signaling his uncle that the time he had for him is over. Elric Maraigne, one of his most trusted servants, came over to stand by the Arl, to kick him out by force if needed.

"We are not finished, Cailan," warned Eamon as he rose to his feet. Cailan scowled - as much as he disliked his father-in-law doing all the scowling business, sometimes a scowl was much better than his usual smile or easy-going smirk.

"We are," he replied, leaning on his hands, gripping the edge of his desk. He nearly wanted to ask Bryce to come some other time - but his friend had been waiting for the audience for quite some time now, and it wouldn't be fair to him. Not to mention, he knew he could tell the teyrn anything and no one would ever hear of it from him.

"Your Majesty?" sounded Elric's voice.

"Yes, Elric," he answered the unvoiced question. "Please, show Teyrn Cousland in, bring us something to drink and leave us."

"As you wish, Your Majesty. Teyrn Cousland?"

There were some noises of opening and closing doors, drink being poured and chairs being pushed to the desk. Next thing he knew he was sitting by the fireplace in his study, glass of whiskey in his hand with no idea how he got there and Teyrn Cousland was standing over him with worried expression.

"Your Majesty, are you feeling well?"

"No," he replied before he could stop himself. Teyrn Cousland frowned slightly. "Does that," he started carefully, minding the upset state his King obviously was in, "have anything in common with the loud voices coming from here before?"

Cailan looked up to the worried face of his friend. With sardonic grimace he knocked the rest of his whiskey back. "Everything," he said, "and nothing. Now," he rose to his feet, motioning Teyrn Cousland to follow him, "how is Highever this time of year?"

He knew Bryce wouldn't let it slide, and would approach the reasons for his distress at some later date or wait for him to start talking about it first. But now, it was calming to listen to the older man speaking so fondly of his home, and family.

_Family._

It was something he envied Bryce. What he envied Eamon. One day, he hoped, he and Anora will be able to create a family of their own. And if not, they will come up with solution, whether Eamon likes it or not.

 


	8. Fear, Delilah Howe/Male Cousland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arl Howe marries his daughter off to Couslands. His daughter fears her husband - and he feasts on that fear, for it's not him being rough what scares her so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a [ propmt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/10371.html?thread=41743491#t41743491): 
> 
> Howe goes for marriage instead of betrayal. Delilah is terrified of M!Cousland and he enjoys her terror.

 

She doesn't know what her father was thinking when he offered her hand to _him_ , the younger one of brothers Couslands, second child of Teyrna Eleanor and Teyrn Bryce of Highever. He was handsome, great dark brown hair, deep brown eyes, slim and athletic figure, with absolutely spotless manners.  
  
At least in public.  
  
Before they got married, he would sneak behind her and whisper in her ear. "Soon, you'll be mine. _Mine_."  
  
It made her tremble. Tremble, but not with desire as many people would have thought, for his voice carried an unspoken threat in them. He would step away once he said those words, though, leaving her alone with her thoughts and wildly beating heart.  
  
The first time they came together as wife and husband left her teriffied. Not because he was rough or violent to her - right the opposite. It was the gentleness what scared her after all the scaring her now husband gave her before their wedding. He touched her as if she was something prescious, something invaluable, each move of his hands setting her skin afire.  
  
Her body betrayed her that night, trembling with desire under his touch, while her mind was praying for peace, praying for being left alone - or not alone with him.  
  
His eyes tell her he knew what she was thinking, and the pleasure it gives him; the power her fear of her husband gives him.  
  
He comes to her time to time, for they are supposed to have at least one heir, and each time she prays for a child to come, so he leaves her alone.  
  
Her prayers are left unanswered, and he continues to watch her as a bird of prey. With love, other women say, but she knows better.  
  
She is _his_ , and every look of his eyes makes her remember. _His_ , till death do them part.


End file.
